


with my whole heart

by iwillbeyourgoal



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Post-Canon, dare i say... Yearning, lesbian Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillbeyourgoal/pseuds/iwillbeyourgoal
Summary: of teenage lesbians, tea with no sugar, and tomato soup.(a conversation with a Them makes aziraphale realize what he's been hiding)





	with my whole heart

Aziraphale, proudly, had sold no books in the five years since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t. Not a single one. This was, of course, no different than the time before the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, but it felt good that, in a world where so much was different now, at least this remained the same. 

This didn’t mean that people didn’t come and _sit_ in his bookshop. Not one, but two coffeeshops had opened on the block where Aziraphale worked and lived, and when their tables were occupied, the local teenagers and uni students would pop by to study or socialize. 

As a rule, Aziraphale had no problem with young people. (The time he’d tried to murder one was simply a fluke.) He liked their openness, their creativity and the passion they had for strange, specific things like animated shows about ice skating or video games about farming. As long as none of them tried to buy anything – which none of them did after the first time he reprimanded them – then they were welcome in his shop.

He’d even started to have regulars, in a sense. Young people who would come on a daily basis and sit in his squishy armchairs, careful to place their coffees on coasters and _nowhere_ near the books. He begun to learn their names. There was Frances, a young woman who was working on her masters in environmental engineering, who hoped to give the world better forms of energy. Demi, who was wondering how to tell his parents he wanted to move to America to work in film. Michaela, who couldn’t decide which GCSEs they wanted to take. 

Aziraphale rather liked having them around most of the time. They helped distract him from the fact that Crowley hadn’t been by in seven months. This was not, strictly speaking, unusual – they’d gone decades, _centuries_ sometimes, without so much as a “hullo, how’re you doing, good, bye now.” 

But that was before. Before they’d gone into battle, before their side had been formed. Before they’d saved the world together. 

The shift in their relationship couldn’t have been one-sided, the angel told himself. He couldn’t have been the only one to feel it. It had only been in the last century that Aziraphale had realized it, but he was so arse-over-teakettle infatuated with the demon that he was sure he’d been in love for much, much longer than that.

This was what made Crowley’s sudden disappearance and radio silence so unnerving. Aziraphale had felt they were heading toward something, something irrevocable and lovely and uniquely theirs that had been building up for thousands and thousands of years, and then – nothing. 

The two of them had never discussed it in detail, but they each had a sort of radar for wherever the other was. It would most likely be very easy for Aziraphale to find where Crowley was, or at least ask around enough to hear it through the grapevine. But the demon had decided to leave. He’d made that choice. It was not up to Aziraphale to violate his decision for privacy – so he didn’t. 

Meanwhile, he was trying so, _so_ hard not to think about it. He buried himself in his translations, and his travels to fetch rare first editions, and the restaurants he hadn’t yet been to. It was something of a feat to go places in the world that didn’t remind him of Crowley, but if Aziraphale had any flaws he’d perfected over the years, they were avoidance and denial.

And as he’d said, the bookshop children, as he’d secretly come to think of them, helped. None of them were from Tadfield or had ever even heard of its airbase. They were just normal, human people who liked to spend time in Aziraphale’s quiet, if almost museum-like, bookshop.

If this was the rest of his existence, if he never saw Crowley ever again, it would be a decent life. Maybe not a fulfilled one, not remotely, but decent. Compartmentalization would be required for this, of course, but then so many things in the angel’s life already did. What was one more?

It was a balmy Saturday in June when all of this denial and compartmentalizing came to a screeching halt. 

There were only a few people in the shop, and Aziraphale was talking to one of his favorites, a girl named Cassie who was studying biology, when his door opened. 

“Oh, my dear, you absolutely _must_ read Oscar Wilde,” he was saying as the bell rang. He didn’t turn at first. “The man was a madman – so I’ve read – but a brilliant conversationalist – so I’ve read – and an even more brilliant writer.”

“Mr. Aziraphale?” a voice called from the doorway.

No one on Earth save for a few souls called him that, and certainly no one that came into his shop in the past year or so. (His human identity of Ezra Fell had served him well, and if anyone noticed he didn’t age or physically change at all, well. They didn’t say anything.) His heart, had it needed to beat, would have seized at that moment, and he slowly turned.

“Oh!” he said, a large smile overtaking his face. “Oh my – Pepper, yes?”

Adam’s friend had grown a significant amount in the half-decade that had passed since Aziraphale had seen her last. He and Crowley had visited Tadfield around three years ago to check in on Adam, but the Them hadn’t been around at the time, all of them off vacationing or at summer camps or working at their cousin’s farm, in Wensleydale’s case. 

“That’s right,” Pepper said, allowing herself a small smile of her own. “I, er…” She stood there for a second, pulling at the hem of her shirt. 

The child looked… not upset, necessarily, but concerned. Confused. Like she had a heavy weight upon her. It bothered Aziraphale to see her this way.

“Would you like to talk in the kitchen?” he found himself asking. “Let me make you some tea?”

She nodded, and he led her to the back, smiling apologetically at Cassie. 

The kettle on the stove and a tin of biscuits set out on the small table he had in his eating space, Aziraphale sat next to Pepper. 

“So!” he said as cheerfully as he could muster while attempting to scrutinize her face. “What brings you all the way to London?”

“Actually moved here ‘round six months ago,” she said, her fingers tracing the grain of the table’s surface. “Dad got a new job with a publishing company.”

“Did he really? My goodness. Well, how are you liking it?”

“I like it alright. Some parts are good,” she replied, a slight sigh in her voice that Aziraphale had recently come to recognize as a very teenage brand of melancholy. “I miss Tadfield sometimes, if you can believe it. London’s got lots going on, but it’s so loud and busy. ‘m not even allowed to ride my bike more than two blocks away from our flat ‘cause of crime.”

“That must be frustrating.”

Pepper nodded as the kettle started to whistle. Aziraphale smiled gently and stood to pour them two cups.

“Milk, no sugar,” Pepper said as the angel turned to ask her how she took it. He laughed a little – he’d had minimal interaction with the girl during his and Crowley’s time in Tadfield, but from what he’d seen and heard from Adam during their frequent phone calls, she was a veritable firebrand.

“Very good,” he said, miracling some milk into her cup as he handed it to her. 

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea, and Pepper fidgeted with her napkin. 

“Where’s Mr. Crowley?” she asked suddenly, and Aziraphale’s throat tightened.

“Ah,” he said, shifting in his seat which had suddenly become very uncomfortable. “I, er. I’m not sure, actually. Haven’t heard from him in a bit.”

Pepper looked at him like he had killed her dog. “ _What_? What happened?”

He blinked. “There’s nothing the matter with him. He’s just probably flittering around, causing trouble for this city and that.”

“How long?” She was sounding increasingly worried, and Aziraphale frowned.

“Now, my dear, there really is nothing to worry about – ”

“How long have you gone without seeing him?”

It didn’t take much mental calculation for the angel, who deflated a bit. “It’ll be eight months next Tuesday.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Pepper moaned, sinking further into her chair. 

“My dear girl, what on _Earth_ is wrong?”

“If you and Mr. Crowley can’t make it work then how the hell is it ever gonna work with me and – ”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, groaning. She’d clearly said more than she’d meant to.

“With whom?” he supplied softly. 

She didn’t say anything, so he reached across the table and gently pried a hand from her face and held it in his. “Are you having, erm… relationship troubles?”

Snorting, she took the other from her face. “Hard to have relationship troubles when you can’t even muster up the courage to ask her out,” she muttered.

Her.

_Her._

Suddenly the reason why young Pepper had stopped by his shop became strikingly clear. 

“Oh, my dear girl,” he said, his heart feeling like it would burst with the love that he could now clearly feel radiating off of her. “I see. I see now.”

Her eyes met his, and she looked miserable. “I thought if… if I could come see you and Mr. – well, you’re the only queer couple I’ve ever…”

Aziraphale almost choked on the sip of tea he’d taken. “Couple? Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid you must have… misunderstood,” he finished lamely.

She stared at him, disbelief clear on her face.

“We’re not a couple,” he supplied. “And technically, sexuality is a bit of a complicated issue for – ”

“Yes you are,” she asserted. “Or if you’re not, you’re in love.”

To have it laid so bare when he’d gone so long trying to avoid it, and by a _child_ – it was almost too much. 

“Well, in any case, I still might be able to help you with your troubles,” he rushed out. 

She sighed and ran a hand over her face. “Well, I was really hoping to talk to you and Mr. Crowley together, because I thought you were, you know – together, but I suppose you’ll do. I have this friend, she’s in one of my art classes, her name’s Essie, and she’s so gorgeous, and smart, and funny, and her art is _so_ good, she’s so talented, and I just – I just want to hold her hand. I want to take her to the park. I want…” 

She trailed off, her voice wobbling, and let her head fall into her hands.

Aziraphale ached for this poor girl. Because she was clearly in a great deal of pain, but also because he knew exactly how she felt. 

He collected his thoughts, took a deep breath, and started. “When I… realized I had feelings for Crowley, it was very difficult to bear. I felt as though if I acted on them, then… I don’t know, then I might explode or something equally dreadful. Angel and a demon, can you even imagine it? Beyond that, he drives me mad sometimes, and he doesn’t know how to cook, and he doesn’t even _like to read._ ”

Pepper snorted, and he allowed himself a smile at this too, before continuing. “But he’s so kind, Pepper. Oh, he’s one of the kindest beings I know. And cleverest, too. And there’s no one who can make me laugh or smile quite like he can.” 

Pepper was looking at him now, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and he ran a hand over his face before finishing.

“And, true, it isn’t as though I’ve confessed to him yet… But I do know two things: I know that I love him, and I know that all forms of love are _good_. They can be frightening, and Heaven knows I’m frightened sometimes. But… oh, dear girl, it will be so worth it for you and I, in the end. Taking that leap will always be terrifying, but how on Earth will you ever know if you don’t?”

She was crying now, but smiled as she wiped some away with the back of her hand and sniffled. “Sounds like you should be taking your own advice.”

She was right. Of course she was right, it was right there in Psalms, wasn’t it? “God ordains strength out of the mouths of babes.” And there it was. 

He could deny it no longer. He was in love. And he needed to say it to Crowley.

“I tell you what,” he said, feeling emboldened. “How about we make this a regular weekly occurrence, and I promise you that I will tell Crowley how I feel if you promise me to tell Essie how _you_ feel.”

Pepper bit her lip and avoided his eyes for a split second, but met them and Aziraphale could see hot determination behind them. 

“Find him, Mr. Aziraphale,” she said.

He grinned, because he knew even if Essie didn’t return her feelings (and with a smidge of divine intervention, she probably would), this girl would be just fine. 

And as she waved at him on her way out the door, for the first time in over seven months, he was starting to think that he might be, too.

After the shop closed that night, he sat at his desk, closed his eyes and focused. He focused on everything that wasn’t Crowley – the sky, the ground, buildings, animals, humans – in order to single out the one thing that _was_ Crowley.

He felt a pulling on his chest as he narrowed in on the demon’s location, and when he felt like he could pinpoint it, he frowned and his eyes shot open.

“He’s in the bloody _South Downs_?”

A little over two hours and one very slight miracle at the car rental place later, Aziraphale was standing in front of a cottage that could only be described as quaint. Ivy was crawling up the front; there were rows of orchids to the left of the door with colors that could make a sunset feel sore; and a brushed bronze birdbath whose water seemed to sparkle even though the sun had long since set.

All in all, it seemed rather… un-Crowley, if Aziraphale were being honest. The man loved his plants, that was true, but this all appeared to be incredibly domestic. 

He raised his hand to rap on the door, but stopped short mere centimeters from the wood. Would Crowley even want to see him? He was the one who left, after all. They’d spent more time together in the years before the final battle than they ever had before in their lives – maybe the demon was tired of him. The thought hurt, truth be told, but it would hurt more if he heard it from Crowley’s mouth. He screwed his eyes shut and turned on his heel to head back to his car, when – 

“Aziraphale?”

His eyes must have been as big as saucers as he slowly turned.

Crowley’s hair was a bit shaggier than it was the last time Aziraphale had seen him, but otherwise, he looked basically the same. Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he expected any differently, and he wasn’t sure if the reality was better or worse.

“Crowley,” he croaked by way of greeting.

The demon at least had the decency to look sheepish, and they stood there for a few moments before he said, “You, er, weren’t supposed to see this yet.”

It turned out this was all Aziraphale needed to unlock almost a year’s worth of loneliness and abandonment issues. “Crowley, where have you _been_?” he all but shouted. “You just… left me! You left, and you didn’t say where you’d gone to, and I accepted that, and now I find out you’ve fucked off to the _South Downs_?”

Crowley winced, but let the angel speak.

“I was so worried, I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been! Trying not to think about you day and night, trying not to think about how it seemed like we were bloody _getting_ somewhere, but no, alone Anthony J. Crowley was created and alone he’ll stay, apparently!”

“Oi, now, angel – ”

“No! You don’t get to defend yourself!” The anger was draining now, replaced by all the sadness and uncertainty that he’d done so well at pushing down. “Crowley… why? Why did you leave me?”

The demon looked so pained that Aziraphale almost felt bad for everything he’d said. Almost.

“I… I was building this,” he mumbled. “For us.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand. “Building _what_?”

“This!” Crowley waved his arm in an arc, indicating the cottage. “I was… I was making us a home. For us to live in.”

“Together?” the angel asked, dumbstruck.

“I get that you don’t want to now, and I'm sorry it took so long, I just… I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Now wait just a minute, my dear,” Aziraphale said sternly. “When did I ever say I didn’t want that?”

Crowley blinked. “But you’re mad at me.”

The speed at which the demon could swing from 6,000-year-old divine being to a 12 year old child was borderline laughable. And Aziraphale would laugh, later, but now that he knew the score, he had to say his piece.

“I am. But, Crowley,” he said, sighing. “I also love you. And right now, telling you that is more important than any anger.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

The weight Aziraphale seemingly had been carrying around for thousands of years lifted, and he repeated, “I love you. I have loved you for a long, long time, my dear boy.”

There is no ‘ngk’ from Crowley this time, just fists in linen suit jackets pulling Aziraphale into the cottage and a door slamming shut.

“This is real?” he asked breathlessly, the black slits in his eyes so large that they almost overtook the yellow. “I’m not dreaming?”

“This is so very, very real,” Aziraphale nodded. “You left to build us a house?”

“A house just for us, away from London, away from everybody,” Crowley replied. “Oh, I love you, angel. Loved you since the moment I met you. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you where I went.”

Aziraphale chuckled a bit and decided to take a minute to look around. The cottage was lovely, constructed from cherry wood with plants in seemingly every corner. The furniture all looked as squishy as his bookshop chairs, and a fireplace crackled in the small living room area. In the kitchen hung copper pots and pans, wooden and metal utensils and now that he was adjusted to his surroundings, he could smell the beginnings of what seemed to be…

“Tomato soup?” he asked incredulously, turning to the demon, who nodded.

“Little late night snack. I’ve been learning to cook, y’know. I grow the tomatoes round the back, and – ”

Aziraphale had softly but insistently slotted his mouth against Crowley’s. He had never kissed before, had never felt the need, but if they were all like this, as lovely and warm as springtime, he wondered why he hadn’t been doing it his whole existence. Crowley responded in kind, winding his arms around the angel and pulling them even closer.

As they parted, Crowley was smiling – no, _grinning_. 

“Oh, hell, angel,” he said roughly. “If I’d known that all it’d take was some soup, we could’ve been doin’ this for ages.”

“Funny,” Aziraphale said, running his thumb along the man’s cheek. “That’s just what I was thinking.”

The demon softened, taking one of Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “You love me?” he asked, and the insecurity there was enough to break Aziraphale’s heart.

“More than life itself.”

Crowley swallowed, seemingly unable to speak for a moment, then: “Well. One of the fabulous amenities of this cottage is, in fact, a bedroom.”

“Oh? Pray tell of this bedded room.”

“It’s right down the hall past the kitchen.” Crowley pointed the way. “Would you… care to join me?”

A shiver, at once dark and light, ran down Aziraphale’s spine as he grinned. “Happy to, my darling.”

He’d have to send word to Pepper that he might not be able to make their next meeting in London, or any of the ones after that, but as he stopped Crowley halfway down the hall to kiss his neck and unbutton his shirt, he thought she probably wouldn’t mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> my first good omens fic! boy howdy these idiots have consumed my every waking thought. i am so happy with how this turned out, and i hope you are too!!
> 
> tumblr: [wirnyrockbell](http://wirnyrockbell.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [@betheleanorr](http://twitter.com/betheleanorr)


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